Bombalurina
by Velvedere
Summary: Following the guidelines of the Cassandra story, in this one Bombalurina escapes her dark and dreary life via two strangers.


****

BOMBALURINA

Pawprin was the grandest city in all of Felinera.

It wasn't a point to argue over servings of drink beside a fireplace as the weather outside grew cold with autumn; it was well-known fact. No other city in the kingdom had accumulated such wealth, such prosperity over its years of reign. The center of all activity and commerce, the trade routes flowed through it like streams, exchanging goods and services for money, introducing new items from the far away exotic lands while taking items to those same places. A beehive of business, merchants knew where to take their goods for decent competition and an unending market as Pawprin continued to grow in population ever year, expanding its city borders beyond the Dewdrop River. From a bird's eye it was a flower of gold continually spreading with each bloom, covering more and more of the emerald green forests, broken only by the swirling streams of sapphire that wound through it: the most beautiful of jewelry ever created....it was a mixture of nature's splendor and the efforts of the dominant people: the Jellicles.

Pawprin had survived hardships over its time that had left lesser cities mere ghost towns: famine, disease, drought, war, and disaster. Nothing could decimate its magnificence. As though symbolizing this unending reserve of strength and sturdiness, Castle Jukard itself stood tall and uncompromising over the city spread before it. Like a cathedral, its towers reached for Heaviside, their bright red flags streaming in the breeze with their kingdom's renowned crest displayed proudly upon them: a musical note, in which the round base was not a solid black dot, but a cat' slitted eye. Three of these notes dancing across a scale on a background of scarlet red depicted the rule of Jukard and its Jellicles, strong and unbending. The city spread out before the mighty castle was a welcome sight to any weary traveler. Friendly to all range of species that chanced to pass through it, regardless of social status or religious belief, Pawprin was a colorful blend of shops and taverns of all ranges, a comfortable home for any who chanced to settle there.

But even the best of cities have their dark sides. Pawprin was no exception.

No population, even the aggressive, passionate Jellicle people and culture, is untainted by the evils and sin committed by those of mere flesh: beings without divinity who are susceptible to temptations and subject to character faults, such as greed, pride, and prejudice. Despite Pawprin's angelic beauty and heroic deeds in wartime, the city itself had a dark secret known to only those of intelligence and those who walked the streets at night. Children were oblivious, gentle housewives and farmers who visited from the countryside to sell their crops knew nothing of the dark section of Pawprin. Separated from the rest of the city by invisible shadows and darkness, this section was filthy, perverse, throbbing with the evils committed everyday by otherwise normal beings and pulsing with the vitality of those who relished the feeling of sin. No one who wandered into this darkness escaped from it unmarred. Even the royal guards, who patrolled the city on a regular basis and kept order, dared not set foot into those rat-ridden streets and shoddy taverns.

It was a dark part of the city that came to life after the sun fell, and night ruled. Its occupants emerged then, wretched creatures twisted in will and ways, willing to sell anything and everything to satisfy their unending greed and lust, stooping to levels of deception and betrayal that some may never fathom. It was a living dark Heaviside to some who occupied it; to others it was a twisted way to get the money they wanted and the control they desired. It was a suburb of treacherous trickery, never heard of morals, and of girls who walked the night.

Bombalurina was one of those girls.

Beautiful and attractive in the most genuine ways, it was entirely a shame for her to put these things to use for such a vile purpose. But such was her life. Clad in a courtesan's definitive attire, she wore only a thin, ragged black skirt that reached her knees and a tight equally-ragged purple top that left her shoulders and chest generously bare. Along her lithe wrists and forearms were tight black leather guards, matching the material of her skirt and her shin-high black boots. Overall it was a poor excuse for protection against the cold nights as autumn began to draw its close, having already cleared the path of leaves and crops for winter to set in as it pleased. Bombalurina's fur was a fiery red that matched her temperament, her female shape emphasized by numerous black markings and highlighting her figure. Across her feline muzzle, throat, and chest was fur of the purest white, remarkably clean in such filthy surroundings. And in her profession, there was none better.

But it wasn't in the case that Bombalurina liked what she did. No, far from it. In truth, she despised the way she lived. Dressing up every evening in rags that were her best outfits, she walked the streets when the night was still young, flaunting herself, gathering customers for later when she would lead them into a dark room designated as hers, give them what they paid for, and then with a few light drugs dissolved in wine put them to sleep and gather what money she could find. Half of what she earned she kept. The rest went to her employer. It was a lonely, disgusting way of life. And a dangerous one.

Yet at a mere glance one could tell Bombalurina wasn't like the other girls of her profession. It was in the way she carried herself, tall and proud, her eyes fierce with challenge at any who dared to give her the least amount of trouble. The small but lethal dagger hidden in the top of her right boot, sheathed and almost invisible against her fur, had been put to use several times in the past, and its owner would never hesitate in calling upon it again if the need came. Bombalurina had a strength inside her that alone carried her through each night of work, allowing her to bear the brunt of it with a forced smile. It was this strength that kept her alive when most other girls had failed in this kind of life. This strength kept her hopes and dreams alive, her fantasies about another life in another place. This strength was all that kept her flame of personality alive despite the way her life had thus turned out, preventing her from turning into another one of the mindless, expressionless faces that haunted the streets around her.

It hadn't always been like this. Bombalurina had once been a child: a happy, free-spirited daughter of a gentle couple who worked a small farm a good distance from Pawprin. Raised with an older sister and brother, she had never felt content in the daily routine of farm life. Her chores were countless, yet she carried them out with sufficiency. After a long day's work, Bombalurina found her only escape in the fields. Not the cultivated ones, which stood in square patches and were naught but rows upon rows of crops, but the wild fields that were untouched by planters' tools: that grew with waist-high wildflowers and wheat that was never harvested, save for by nature. Here among the singing of birds, the sweet smells of the flowers, the swirling warmth of the wind, Bombalurina could dance and sing as her heart desired, away from the prying eyes of her skeptical family, who viewed the welfare of the farm as their entire lives and had no time for such pleasures. The red-furred female knew better. She knew she never belonged there. In her veins the blood burned, yearning for a different life where she could perform as she longed to. Sometimes sitting on the wooden fences at the edge of her family's property she could watch and wave as the troubadour troupes rumbled by in their brightly-colored carts and costumes, on their way to or from Pawprin to perform as was their profession. Bombalurina yearned to join them with all her soul, and barely at ten years into her life she ran away to do just that.

She got as far as Pawprin's borders, then was found and brought back to her home, where she was scolded mercilessly. Yet the things she had seen even on that one short adventure: the strange new people, the wonders and sights lining the roads as they neared the capital, were all so new and exciting she could think of nothing else. Twice she ran away again, and each time was brought back. For eighteen years she lived on that farm, the rest of her family having full knowledge of her discomfort, until the day of her nineteenth year when her father took her aside in confidence, and handed her a black pouch filled to the brim with valuable gold pieces.

"Go where you may," he told her with a smile. "And find your happiness."

*****

The thought of being handed those coins and the keys to freedom must have been what made Bombalurina pause, staring at the handful of gold pieces in her palm. No, those coins hadn't led to freedom. They'd led her here, to this dark section of the city. Like the naive youth she had been, she plunged headlong into the thrill and excitement of a new world that opened up before her, seeing, hearing, tasting everything within her reach as though she'd just been born into her senses. It was gorgeous, those few precious weeks, but flew by in such a blur she could barely remember them now. Now she could only stand, holding the coins and staring at them as the memories flew by.

"I said, did ye 'ear me?"

Brought back to her senses by the gruff voice before her, Bombalurina looked up. The man standing to face her was old enough to be her father, a foul-smelling male Jellicle with ratty gray fur and rotting teeth. His clothes depicted active life as some sort of sailor, and his speech indicating the same. His disgusting breath washed over Bombalurina's muzzle, and concealing her grimace she turned her face away. Another customer...and, as usual, it was a member of the lowest dregs of society. Pirates, thieves, gypsies, they were all the same.

"I heard you, Grumbuskin," she replied coolly, slipping the coins with barely a sound into a black animal-skin pouch that hung at her hip. "Yes, midnight, at the Full Moon."

The old sailor nodded, adjusting his ragged trousers as a vile grin appeared under his bent and crooked whiskers, his chipped, yellow fangs hanging crooked and rotting. "I'll be there, mizzie, an' ye better make ye sure it's worth me while. That's me 'ard-earned money there."

"Don't worry," she said again, her tone not changing from that low, smooth purr that could entice snakes from their burrows. The red beauty kept her gaze tuned away, across the dark and lonely street at whose side she stood beneath the moonlight. The scurry of a rat's claws brought her ears forward attentively, the dim shadows as wispy phantoms danced across the moon's face with teasing quickness that provided the haunting light for the scene Bombalurina's only light. She imagined the darkness as one of her eternal best friends: it concealed things. Concealed her true thoughts behind that lewd expression; concealed her horrendous deeds to the rest of the world; concealed the ugliness of her customers... "It will. It always is."

A few more series of words and phrases passed between them, most of it the kind of talk Bombalurina had trained herself to carry on without conscious thought. It was a routine: telling the clients what it was they wanted to hear, making promises, then departing their separate ways until the time for the appointment came. This meeting would be no different. Grumbuskin left Bombalurina alone in the dark night with a departing belch reeking of alcohol, his dingy gray form dissolving into the shadows like them all. All the people she'd met in her profession, of which there were many, never stayed longer than a night. On the rare occasion she might encounter the same man twice, but never did she allow herself to feel for any of them the way she wanted to. The night was cold with late autumn as Bombalurina made her slow way back to the only place in Pawprin she could call home, her pace slow and careless, her eyes lowered but keeping aware of any more potential customers. All around her was quiet, broken by the odd scream of a brawl or laughter of a drunk. Dangerous a place as it was, Bombalurina's employer was constantly reminding the rest of them to never be alone, to travel in groups for their own safety. But the red beauty preferred solitude. What use had she for the useless blabbermouths that were her associates? No, she belonged to the night, and it as with the night alone that she found the slightest amount of peace.

A cold breeze ruffled a ridge of fiery red fur alone Bombalurina's shoulder. It brought a small smile to her lips, the kind of smile she could only manage anymore when she was withdrawn into her head, into her own world of dreams where everything was perfect. Her world. The life she wanted. She imagined that brush coming from a tom, a man with whom she could share herself intimately and have the feelings returned. Not like her clients. But that dream was so far, so distant, she had long since lost her undying desire to search for it. Now she knew that's all it ever would be: a dream. She had to be content with that.

She had wanted so much to be in love when she was young and a fresh occupant in Pawprin. The idea of it: of finding a tall, handsome tom who she could be happy with and who would protect her was all she was ready for. Perhaps too ready. Too eager. She had thought she'd found it. Here...with him. It had been wonderful at first, being at his side, eternally ready to face whatever challenges life would throw at them. She had thought it would always be like that: him being loyal to her, protecting her, loving her, and she had been an absolute fool to believe such a storybook ending. That dream had gone, and now she had to life the only way she knew. Knowing no trade or skilled art, she could not find her own work. Knowing no other names or faces in Pawprin beyond this shadowy section, she had been afraid to leave him. It seemed that he knew everything, everybody. Knowing not what else to do: she stayed, with him, like this.

The Full Moon Tavern was his, an epicenter of harlots and criminals seeking shelter and company night after night. There was a never-ending supply of them streaming through the Tavern as commerce did through Pawprin. Bombalurina had encountered them all: fugitives, pirates, exiles, thieves, murderers, spies of all nationalities and backgrounds. He was all of them, a contact to each and every one with a mind so crafty and a will so twisted he could on a whim pitch these dregs of society at war against each other. A politician of evil, he was master of them all...all, including her.

The Full Moon Tavern may as well have been the only marginally habitable building in the entire quarter. Financed by its steady income of courtesans and drinks, it remained relatively clean despite the filthiness surrounding it. The rooms inside were well-furnished, the drinks and meals served on clean plates and goblets in the main hall. The first room that made up the majority of the lower floor was the one Bombalurina stepped into as she made the transition from the cold night into her place of residence. The main hall was nothing more than a large center room, warmed by a stone fireplace in the corner that flickered dull orange light up into the rafters and to the shadowy recesses of the place. Strewn with tables and chairs, the shabby, ragged patrons who frequented the place would fill them when not sitting at the bar: a long counter lining the wall furthest from the fireplace, behind which a double-swinging door led to and from the kitchen. Bombalurina paused as the rickety main door closed with a creak behind her, gazing over the sparse occupants of tha main hall that night. The majority of them were more than likely upstairs by now with the numerous girls the Full Moon Tavern employed. Occupied. Bombalurina ruffled her fur to let the warmth penetrate her coat and strode proudly through the hall, striding by the drunks passed out over their tables and the few sober patrons bent over their meals, whispering quiet conspiracies and plots. There wasn't much Bombalurina could do now but wait...wait for her clients to arrive for their appointments. Taking up a seat at a round, wobbling table far from the fireplace so that she might hide in shadow with only her thoughts, the red-furred woman set her chin in her hand and leaned back onto two legs of the chair, waiting.

It was a routine, this practice that she carried out every night. She'd order a quick meal and perhaps drink from one of the tavern girls not working, who in their off-time doubled as waitresses, and wait: listening to the crackle of the fireplace; the scratch-like whisperings rise up to the dark rafters above from which hung filthy flags, pennants, or moth-eaten hunting trophies; the wind whistling through the gaps in the boarded or shuttered windows. It seemed to the beauty queen that waiting was all she ever did anymore. Wait for her customers to arrive so she could get to work. Wait for the new day that would wash away the sins she committed each night and the feeling of dirt left hanging over her. Wait for life to brighten, to show her some glimmer of hope that would keep her looking forward to that distant, golden sunrise. Wait for the day when she would fly away from all of this. Wait for something better. Always waiting...none of those things which seemed likely to happen.

Bombalurina let exhale from her lips a small sigh, her eyes lifting to the renowned insignia of the Full Moon Tavern that hung carved and painted over the fireplace: a full, round moon covered by sparse, diagonal clouds as though drifting. A lonely eye that watched all that went on in the tavern's main hall, could hear what went on upstairs. Waiting. Like her. Nowhere to go. Hardly acknowledged in the day-to-day passing of the tavern occupants.

It was during this period of waiting, of thought, that Bombalurina's cool, collective eyes moved to watch the door to the tavern open and shut with a creak, a blast of cold air sweeping over the room that lingered a moment before being eaten up by the fire's warmth. She saw the two figures enter in that moment the only door opened its connection between the warm tavern and the cold outside world. Two dark figures draped in ragged, torn cloaks that concealed their forms and faces entered the tavern, moving together hurriedly for one of the low tables nearer the fireplace. One of them, the taller of the pair, had his arm around the other's smaller shoulders, obviously helping him along until they slipped into seats beside each other, facing the orange glow. Bombalurina drew one claw over her whiskers, seeing the new arrivals as nothing but potential customers. Two of them, as well. As long as they weren't into anything depraving, she didn't see much wrong with it. She watched them for a moment longer, deciding by their actions what her approach would be.

The two had their backs to her, leaning towards each other in what seemed deep conversation after they ordered some drinks. Their hoods lowered, Bombalurina could see the outlines of their manes against the firelight but not their faces. The taller one had a full mane, thick and curly as it tumbled over his cloak when he shook it out with masculine shape. The smaller one was not so well endowed, with a mane short and thin compared to the other, and that along with the continuous way the taller would rub the other's shoulders suggested that the other might be a woman. Seemed feminine enough from this angle... Bombalurina mentally cursed. If that notion be true then her chances were shot. Still, it was difficult to tell, and after a moment of watching the two dark silhouettes a moment longer she stood, grabbing the tray from a passing fellow tavern girl and sauntered her way over.

It was a game Bombalurina constantly played. Her steps long and measured, hips and tail swaying in definite eye-catching movements, she came up behind the two, the heat from the fire growing to an almost unbearable level when she circled round, putting the tray down on the table to unload the ordered mugs of beer. Leaning over the table as she did so, she gazed up through the strands of red and black mane that fell over her face, from this angle able to see both their faces clearly.

The taller one struck her immediately as handsome, the kind of tom every girl wished she could meet, though in her line of work Bombalurina had learned not to take such things into consideration. His eyes were bright and lively, dark with a naturally turned up, almost smirking mouth. His facial fur was smooth and evenly brushed back without any apparent need for cosmetics, colored a light tan with a hint of black and yellow stripes, lightening around his eyes and muzzle. His mane was just as thick as she'd guessed it to be, colored the same with the forelocks naturally curled in a child-like cuteness. Anything beyond that below his neck was covered in that dark cloak...save for his hands, which were—oddly enough—spotted like the pattern she'd seen on the drawings of wildcats, fading into a stark black as it reached his wrists. It was his eyes that she met as she deposited the drinks down.

"How are things with you?" she drawled, taking the other drink to set it before his companion.

"They have been better," the tom answered, his voice as gorgeous as his face, soft and smooth as velvet. The red beauty paid it no mind. Her eyes flickered to his companion, and just the sight of him—it was after all a man—was enough to make even her back away. A tom, perhaps, but it was a difficult thing to discern. First and foremost the tom looked desperately ill, his face kept low and the rest of him drawn in, seeming ready to collapse at any moment. His face was a pale ivory white, fur still short and uneven with obvious youth, framed by a mane of jet black and matching eyes that made him seem all the more deathly white. His hands as well were thin and femininely sleek, one white, one black as they peeked out from under the folds of his cloak, clasping his mug of warm drink as though life itself. In comparison to his companion it seemed little wonder he needed such support.

"Anything I can do?" she purred on, pushing aside the tray to take up a seat opposite the two men, keeping her back to the fire so she could study their faces hopefully without them doing the same.

"You can leave us alone and mind your own matters," the taller half growled, seeming that his handsomness was indeed only fur deep. Bombalurina was not one to give up so easily. She had heard the jingle of coins come from the area of the taller man's belt when he shifted positions to gently rub the shoulders of his companion. It was common knowledge that big money meant big payments, and those payments meant not only more for her but good terms with her employer. Setting her chin in her hands, she smiled, flicking her tail coyly.

"Your friend seems to be a quiet one," she observed, eyeing the smaller half. She could see the mane of the other tom bristle in attention as he glared at her, on his guard by the mere notion she was paying the smaller half any notice at all. His guard over the other seemed a convulsive habit by now. His gaze finally turned away, patting the shoulder of the smaller tom as he gazed into that sickly white face.

"My friend has not been feeling his best recently."

Grinning with vile intentions as Bombalurina saw her chance, she swung her supple legs around on the chair so that she faced the smaller, silent man. "Is that so?" she purred, licking her whiskers, using that same low, enticing voice that so often worked magic over toms. "Allow me a few moments alone with him and I'm certain he will feel much better..." As much as she hated the act, despised it and everything that would eventually follow, Bombalurina knew what toms wanted. What they liked. They were all the same, these brutes driven by only one path of thought at a time. She reached for the smaller tom, but had barely brushed a whisker of that pale facial fur when a sudden deep growl cut the serene atmosphere, and immediately following was the crash of a wooden chair skittering across the floor as the taller half of the pair leaped rapidly to his feet, throwing down his cloak as he grabbed Bombalurina's wrist roughly and hauling her up to face him, away from the other.

Apparently she had been wrong for the first time in a long while about what toms wanted. She should have been grateful but for this show of aggression aimed at her instead flared her own. Yet as much as her instincts screamed for it she did not raise her claws in defense against the taller tom. With the cloak gone she saw his attire: the dusky gray tunic that was his only covering save for a black leather belt and brown trousers. More than that was, attached to his belt that had been previously concealed by the cloak, was a full-length battle sword, hanging loosely in its sheath. This tom was a warrior, apparently belonging to whatever order was signified by the red symbol embroidered on the chest of his gray tunic, a symbol she didn't recognize. The tavern and all its occupants were silenced as her face was drawn close to his, one startled, one dangerous.

"You leave him be," the tom growled, his grip around her slender wrist like iron. The courtesan taken aback by the sudden appearance of a warrior, more by where she was seeing him than by what he was, showed her astonishment openly a split second before her strength and cunning brought back her composure.

"You let _me_ be!" she snapped, trying unsuccessfully to unclench his spotted hand from her wrist. A painful twist in which she bit her tongue to not cry out and the tom tossed her away roughly.

"My companion and I don't need the attentions of wenches like you. Get out of my sight!"

More wounded in pride and scalded with indignation than by any physical means, Bombalurina found herself rendered speechless as the stare she met with the tom was fierce and defiant. Her lips parted in protest, but any sound was halted by those dark eyes. Bombalurina then, to save face, whirled on the heel of her boot, retaining what show of pride she could muster as she swept from the main hall and through the swinging door into the kitchen. Pausing a moment in the free-hanging doorway, she looked back. Talking had resumed among the few lingering patrons, and across the vast room near the fireplace the warrior tom had righted his chair and resumed his rest in it. His hand rested on the shoulder of his companion, their conversation deep. Bombalurina watched, her face flushed with an unknown heat, then turned and let the door swing shut behind her.

*****

She spent a long while afterward at the back of the kitchen, lingering in between the worlds of the hot, crowded kitchen and the cool, quiet night beyond the walls of the tavern. Leaning against the doorframe, her arms were crossed in front of her as Bombalurina gazed out into the cold night. The Full Moon Tavern was one of the very few inns within the borders of Pawprin that had the fortune to be built upon the very edge of the city. A strategic location, as it had the advantage of being the first tavern any weary traveler would spot upon entering from this direction, the back of it also faced out into the forests surrounding the city. On clear nights such as this Bombalurina could gaze out and see the stars high above the dark tree line in the dark royal blue sky. Their points of light seeming only to shine more clearly through the cold air, they seemed so symbolize within themselves her dreams. So far away, and yet she could see them with crystal, catlike clarity. As though she could reach out and touch them... But it could not be. As much as she wanted to fly away from this place and its dirty secrets, find somewhere better and where she could be happy, she knew she was bound her like a caged wildbird. Her heart longed to be free, to soar above the heights of the cold, cruel world she knew into an endless blue sky of discovery, but these bars held her back; allowed her to see her freedom but not touch it. Now as she gazed up at those stars and all they incited within her mind and heart, Bombalurina could find it within her to cry.

She couldn't cry for long, for he was coming. He: the one who held her captive and at his mercy. The one she honored and obeyed like no other and yet hated beyond description. The man who was responsible for taking her childhood innocence into his black hands and turning Bombalurina, once a freespirited and vivacious young girl, into a dark-hearted and unfeeling girl of the night. A queen worth only what someone would pay for her. He was the one who had beaten into her mind like a religious code that which she lived by: the simple rules of survival, the hard truths of life which did anything but set her free. It was he who bound her wildbird wings to this place of wretchedness. He whom she had once loved.

It was Macavity: her employer.

He swept up through the shadows lingering outside of the tavern as though he was one of them, silent and seductive in his movements as he made his presence known only when he wanted it to be. Macavity was not a tom to draw unnecessary attention to himself, and often circled around the back of the tavern he owned to enter through the kitchen rather than stalk through the tavern itself. Like a sigh of the wind he rose up from the blackness of the shadows, his sleek form only accentuated by the comforming blackness of his attire and cape. Only his eyes stood out among those shadows of his features, twin burning embers of melted gold which could kill with a single look. He swept up beside Bombalurina with all the demeanor of Death itself, his hot breath drifting through her whiskers. She dared not look at him for fear of what she could see. A monster...a thing that had tricked her into loving him...

"You have brought good business tonight?" were the first words he hissed, quiet, though the sharpness held within them sent a shivering tingle down Bombalurina's side. She refused to cringe.

"Business comes slow when the weather is cold," she answered, voice ever the quieter, not the same proud declarations she had spoken with before. "You know that."

"Indeed, but it comes even slower when our guests are not treated with the proper kindness. Does it?" One sharp, black claw from his hand lifted to trace down the bone structure of her high cheek. The red beauty turned her face away, closing her eyes.

"The warrior wasn't interested. I did what I could to catch their eyes, but—"

"Do not make excuses with me." His voice rose only slightly, yet the force its tone carried was more powerful than any superior shouting insults at her. The claw traced down to her jaw and across her throat, his entire black hand coming to wrap around its delicate arch. Bombalurina dared not move, dared not swallow. "I always know when you lie to me, Bombalurina."

"I never lie to you, Macavity."

There was no avoiding such a thing. With a tom such as the fire-colored man who stood beside her now it was to be expected sooner or later. Inevitably, he slapped her. It was not the sting of the blow so much that hurt her. Bombalurina was used to it by now. Instead it was the knowledge that was carried within the hand that struck across her cheek: the reminder that he had entire control over her, her existence, her very thoughts, and she could do nothing against him. In this world he was the master, and it was not an authority that would be challenged.

"It will not happen again," Macavity hissed, and just as silent removed the black cloak from around his neck to sweep into the kitchen, not another regard given to the red-furred woman who stood with one hand to her cheek, staring at the ground until he was gone. Why should he give her a second glance? After all, she was only his plaything, and playthings were not important. They were not talked to or looked upon as equals and living creatures. They were only tools. Bombalurina felt the swish of Macavity's thick-furred yet horribly kept fire-colored tail as he disappeared into the tavern, leaving her with only the silence of the night and her own thoughts. The only things she was capable of truly owning.

*****

Her solitude would not be granted much longer that night. As though Heaviside would deem her no peace, the sting had not yet left Bombalurina's cheek before she was again visited by another tom. Yet there remained an unusual comfort in the thought of interruption. In being interrupted she would not have time to think, to let her mind wonder and discover new ideas and thoughts that could only further her misery, for with truth came knowledge, and the only knowledge Bombalurina could have gained from contemplation beneath the moon's light was that of despair. Thus she welcomed the release from solitude when the sleek, handsome form of the warrior tom appeared through the same kitchen door, blocking the warm firelight as he peered out to see her among the darkness.

"I had hoped to find you," he said quietly as he joined her in the coolness of the outside, remaining in the door's open path of light while she lingered in the dark, where she belonged, unworthy of joining his light. She did not look up at him.

"Then it appears you have succeeded."

"I wanted to apologize for my rashness. It was uncalled for."

Bombalurina shook her head with a disgusted sigh and turned away, hugging herself tightly. "Do not apologize. I am not sorry for my actions, so nor should you be." She felt the lie burn her throat as much as the blow had burned her cheek, and both of them now burned so brightly and intensely she wondered how he could not see them. How could his dark eyes not detect in their serene depths her obvious guilt and shame? It must have been so apparent.

"Did he strike you?"

Though she had expected him to ask, Bombalurina knew no answer. She merely shrugged her bare shoulders, her white tail tip tossing gently. "It is a common thing."

"It should not be. Ladies should not be treated like dogs."

Bombalurina laughed to disguise her sob as fresh tears began to burn her eyes, her throat becoming dry and cracked. "Who are you to judge a lady or not? You know nothing about me. It is his right to do as he pleases."

"I repeat the same: it should not be."

"So long as he manages the money it is his right. I cannot argue." Sniffing back her show of emotion, she finally turned to face the warrior, her show of forced pride hindered only by the close proximity to which she found herself standing before him. She met his eyes, defiant in the message they sent. "You are the one to tell me what I should and should not do? What do you propose I do, then?"

"Leave this place. Get away from here." The warrior tom reached one arm up from beneath the folds of his cloak, touching her shoulder to which Bombalurina jerked away from. She would not look at him again: the honest colors of his facial fur, his wide eyes and their sincerity. It could not be true. Slowly, his hand fell, that strangely colored hand of black fur and wildcat spots. "My companion and I are leaving in the morning. You are free to accompany us."

"I am certain," she answered curtly, biting in her sarcasm. "Where are you going?"

"Towards the Scarlet Mountains. We have business there."

"Of course, and the two of you would use the company of a single queen while on your long and lonely journey."

She could see the offense he had taken, for already he had taken a step back towards the kitchen door: a step away from the border she was forbidden to cross. "It is not so. We have sworn an oath to uphold a code of justice and honor, and to leave you here when we could offer help would be against that."

"And should I refuse?"

"Then I can do no more."

Her hands rose to clasp her bare shoulders, suddenly yearning for the relatively thick shawl Bombalurina kept in her room for such cold nights. It had not seemed to cold earlier in the evening. Though her eyes gazed away the red queen could continue to feel the presence of this tom behind her, his eyes upon her back so often in the way she had felt Macavity stare at her. Such power the eyes of toms could contain, power that they did not know they possessed even when its influence worked over the queens they came into contact with. When she found her voice again it was small, fearing.

"What would you do with me should I accompany you?"

The warrior shifted behind her. "You would be free to travel with us or leave as you deemed fit. Or if you so wished you could accompany us as far as the Scarlet Mountains and go on alone to wherever you wanted."

"I have lived here my entire life," she protested, her tail curling for how much the notion, hearing it with her own ears, enticed her. To leave and be free... "I know nothing of the outside world. Where would I go?"

"My companion and I have many friends throughout Felinera. Surely you would find somewhere that suits you."

"Suits me," Bombalurina repeated, wistful. If only it were true. Macavity would never let her leave this city alive.

"My companion and I would like to help you," he said again, only reinstating what was already known. Or so he said. Bombalurina with her hardened conscience and heart had long since ceased to believe honest Jellicles still existed in the known world, or that she would ever happen to encounter one. Truly great and noble Jellicles were a world away: inhabiting the courts of Deuteronomy, fighting the fields of battle, raising their own families while making successes in their professions. They were not here in the slums. Believing this, Bombalurina grew angry at his dishonesty. To him she was nothing more than a tavern wench.

"You have already caused me enough trouble," she said, no longer soft and scared. After feeling the threat of Macavity gone for the moment and seeing through this warrior's facade—so she thought—nothing further could frighten her. "Leave me."

The tom did not move away immediately. Instead Bombalurina heard the shuffle of a cloak as he withdrew back into the light and warmth of the tavern, saying only one thing more. "I am called Tugger and my companion is Mistoffelees. If you change your mind, we shall be here until dawn."

Bombalurina did not breathe again until he had gone, and even then it was a frustrated sigh. Why must she suffer being tempted like this? Having long since lost her belief in Heaviside and the Everlasting Cat's existence, Bombalurina did not pray for someone to come and take her away from all of this. Though it was a constant wish, a dream, a desire, she would not lower herself to begging. If nothing else, she would maintain her inner pride. Uncrossing her arms, she turned back to look at the doorway of light. It was grinning at her, it seemed. Mocking her and her thoughts. After all, did not Grizabella begin her life as a harlot and then rise to become mate of the king? Bombalurina scoffed at the notion. Of course she had, and then see where it had gotten her. She had ran away from the royal life, back to what she knew she despised, but it was the life she knew. She could never belong with anything other than what she was, and Bombalurina knew the same rang true for her.

She went back into the warmth. It could have only been expected. There, waiting for her at his own table, was Grumbuskin. Bombalurina hesitated only when she saw him through the kitchen doorway that led into the tavern, unbelieving that she could have forgotten she had a scheduled appointment. This would not bode her well in the way of appeasement. The red-furred woman slipped into the tavern area only after regathering herself, brushing back her full red mane, smoothing down her attire, then seating herself gracefully across from the old sailor at the table, chin in one palm.

"Yer late," the grizzled old tom rumbled in his throat. Bombalurina only smiled in return, letting her tail flick at its leisure to complete the act.

"I had other business to attend to," she purred, letting her free hand glide over the table's worn wood patterns to disguise the quick glance she shot across the wide open space towards the fireplace. The warrior tom and his companion were gone, most likely up to their own room for the night. What had he said his name was? Tugger? Such an odd name...nothing like Bombalurina had ever heard. He was not to be worried about any longer. She reached across the table's surface to touch Grumbuskin's hand. "Shall we go retire now?"

"Yes, let's," he said, grinning with the muzzle that held so many crooked and chipped yellow fangs, as he stood up with a grunt. Bombalurina followed with endlessly more grace and fluidity, clenching her jaw and preparing her mind for what was to come once they entered the room upstairs and closed the door behind them. Even as they started up she could see, from the corner of her eye, Macavity's dark form lounging at a table farthest from the fire's reaching light. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, his whiskers twisted into an evil sneer as he watched. Always watched.

*****

Some time later Bombalurina reemerged from the room on the second floor of the tavern alone. Brushing back her mane, her fur was messed and damp from perspiration, her face flushed as though from tears. Readjusting the straps of her purple top she headed quickly down the long, dark hallway, into her pouch concealing the last remnants of her pay. The tavern was quiet and empty, the world beyond its walls remaining asleep in the dark of early morning. The queen was tired, and perhaps if she searched the kitchen she would find enough leftover water still warm from the cauldron with which she could clean herself...return her appearance to it former beauty as though nothing had been done. No crimes had been committed in the night, which concealed all.

It would not be so. Upon stepping off the last stair that was the only pathway between the upper and main floor of the Full Moon, Bombalurina stopped with a gasp upon feeling a dark form sweep behind her, taking her shoulders in a firm hold, claws at her throat.

"Where is it?" Macavity hissed, his voice rising steam. Without words Bombalurina lifted her pouch to hand to her employer, her pulse fluttering as he slid his hands away to take it. She did not turn around, though his evil laugh as he checked the contents within: a number of gold coins, was deep and dark. She merely waited for him to speak, forever a slave. "Good. Very good." She had begun to take her leave when he spoke again, carefully counting the money. "You have another customer. He came to see me personally about you."

"How fortunate," Bombalurina said quietly, daring not to argue. She heard the jumble of coins as they were shoved back into the pouch's confines and Macavity's breath resumed on her shoulder, cold and chilling. "Can I not clean first?"

"No. You've no need to." His claws traced her neck yet again, in response her face turning only slightly away.

"Who is it?"

"The warrior you encountered earlier," he answered with all pleasure, a cruel chuckle rising from him as Macavity saw the disgusted expression cross her face. "It seems you have a chance to redeem yourself, my dear. Room number twelve." He pushed her shoulders in an indication to mount the stairs yet again, leaving her no choice. "Be nice to them, girl. They have paid handsomely for you."

"I'll not disappoint _them_," Bombalurina said, hiding her face, hiding her feelings, as she went without protest.

*****

It seemed almost no surprise to Bombalurina that the warrior tom had changed his mind about her previous offer. So he was much like any other tom she had serviced, as she had initially thought. Warrior, indeed. If this was his frame of mind then what did he know about honor and justice? Where could he take her that would be any better than the place she now called home? He and his companion would accompany her as far as the next town, perhaps, and then when they grow tired of her drop her in the nearest gutter like so many others had. Bombalurina as she made for the door of the second floor marked with a dark, painted 12 was certain more than ever that all toms were alike. Selfish and lustful.

She reached one lithe, supple white hand to knock upon the hard oak door, but before her fingers had even touched the wood it was swung open. Silenced in surprise as much as shock, Bombalurina found her gaze settling upon the pale, sickly, white-furred features of the small tom Tugger had called Mistoffelees. In the dim candlelight emitting from the room within she could see he had discarded his cloak which had so concealed before, only now to reveal he was as thin and small-framed as she had guessed. Whether by birth or by disease she could not discern, though his dominant black fur was smooth and shiny, his dark raven eyes stared out at her with a mystical depth that defied a childish appearance.

"We knew you would come," he said, voice a soft purr, as he opened the door further for her to enter. Turning her whiskers high into the air Bombalurina strode inside, strutting as she sighted the so-called warrior Tugger sitting upon the furthest of two beds in the small room, bent over his sword which he was hard at the task of polishing. She heard the click of the door close behind her, but resolved to keep herself proud. The room was not cluttered, its only occupants being the two toms beside her, their cloaks hanging beside the one window, and a small satchel set beside Tugger upon the bed. The warrior looked up after the door had closed, his features bright and eager. Bombalurina could have spit into that handsome face of his. Instead she could find it within herself to settle with an insult.

"It surprises me that you really do lie with females," she stated clearly, settling her hands on her hips with a confident smirk. Across the room the smaller tom Mistoffelees looked aghast at her, but Tugger himself stood up, returning only a gentle smile.

"Do not be surprised. For me that is quite a frequent thing."

Finding her comment rebutted Bombalurina did not answer. She sniffed and turned her face away as he approached, one spotted and black hand extended. His warrior's attire was nothing to be marveled at, as was the other's simple brown tunic; nothing to hint that either of them could afford her usual price, let alone more. Of the money pouch she had seen earlier, there was no trace. The woman found herself faltering a moment. Surely they had not given up the entire thing for her!

"That is not why we have had you come here," the warrior said, drawing back his offered hand when he saw she would not take it. Bombalurina sneered.

"Why else should you pay for me to go anywhere?"

"It did not cross my mind that you would come see us otherwise," he answered in a slight growl, matching her for once with pride and boldness. It was a challenge Bombalurina quickly rose to confront. She turned to face him, her own fangs showing their tips.

"What, pray tell, could you possibly have to tell me other than what you have already said?"

"Nothing," he answered promptly. "Only to reiterate the previous offer. Knowing what it is you have just done, how could you possibly consider remaining in this place a moment longer?"

The tom had struck deep and true. Bombalurina drew a deep breath to calm a rising temper and to steady herself against the onslaught of what she knew was true. If she so despised her way of life then why did she not leave? Macavity, for one, would never allow it. Bombalurina herself had witnessed him murdering toms twice as large as himself for the slightest wrong glance given his way, let alone purposefully stealing something that was rightfully his property. Furthermore, what would she be leaving for? She had nothing as it was in the matter of worldly possessions save for a room and a few meager changes of clothes. All she had was here...why leave?

"People are not property," Mistoffelees suddenly spoke, startling the queen from her thoughts. Had he the ability to read them? Bombalurina had heard about such things, but never chanced to encounter a Seer. Looking to him sharply, she saw his contrasting black and white form against the golden light of the one lamp in the room, standing beside the doorway still quiet and withdrawn. There was a steadiness in his small and weak voice, a soft confidence that he knew what he spoke. "If your employer is such trouble there are ways to leave this place without his noticing."

Bombalurina shook her head incredulously, not believing what she heard. "This is absurd. I cannot listen any longer..." She turned and hurried for the door and had just reached her hand around the latch when Tugger's voice hailed her back, asking the one question she had not heard in so long. Deep. Sincere. The question was a genuine one.

"What is your name?"

Who had been the last person to ask her that one simple thing? Perhaps Macavity, for not even the girls she worked among, let alone any of her clients, cared what she was called. They often called her such things as honey, or sugar, more common was wench, but never did they ask her name. She turned back, slowly, fearful to meet Tugger's gaze again.

"What did you say?"

"Your name," he repeated, confused by her profound reaction to the simple inquiry. "What is it?"

Even then she was hesitant in saying it. She hadn't spoken her own name in years, let alone thought about speaking it. Was her birth name even still who she was now? After all that had changed and altered her... "Bombalurina."

"Bombalurina," Tugger repeated with the same softness, his smile returning. "Please, leave with us. You don't belong here. Noone does."

"Then why not take some other wench with you?" she asked sharply. "Why bother me with such persistence?"

Tugger reached out one hand, taking her shoulder to draw her back away from the door. His eyes never once looked away after catching hers, their depths dark and sincere. "Because you above all do not want to be here. You yearn to leave, yet lack the courage to make that first step. All you need is to make that choice, Bombalurina, and you can walk away from here without further trouble. You shall never have to look back nor sell yourself ever again."

Bombalurina wanted to slap him for such assumptions. What right had this tom to taunt her with her very dreams and wishes? What assurances were there that his generosity would go any further than the next town? Then again, those assumptions were true, and if Bombalurina knew anything from how she lived, she knew that life offered no assurances. Choices had to be made. Chances taken. Or else nothing changed. Bombalurina realized as she gazed up into those dark eyes that the only way change was made was by making those choices, taking those chances. Otherwise, everything would stay the same. What would be here once these two left and she remained? Everything that was before. Yet what could she possibly find by leaving? Even if she only reached the next village, she was that much further away from this place, that much closer to her dream of freedom. If she only seized this one chance...

"You read my thoughts," she said breathlessly, finding herself smiling genuinely for the first time in years. She looked from the handsome tom before her to the smaller companion, who smiled in his own kittenish way and nodded gently. Bombalurina laughed: a full, beautiful sound she had so missed, and looked back to the warrior, flinging her arms around his sturdy shoulders and no longer caring if she cried.

"I'll go with you..."


End file.
